A Family Chronicle
by A.Diamond
Summary: A collection of stories about Prince Arthur and Merlin as children in a modern palace. Chapters are not chronological.
1. Invitation to a Beheading

"I'm going to have you beheaded," Arthur announced one morning, raising his chin and staring at Merlin down the tip of his nose. That was the way his father always looked at the people _he_ wanted beheaded (even though he never ended up beheading them), so Arthur knew the pose had to be important.

"You can't do that!" Merlin protested with a whine.

"Of course I can, I'm the prince! It's one of the things you get to do when you're the prince."

"Nuh uh!" Merlin was so upset that he dropped the syrupy pancake he'd only half finished. It fell into the excess pooled on his plate, splattering his best red shirt with sticky drops, but he didn't notice.

"But what if you've done something very bad and you deserve it."

"I haven't, though! And I still don't think you're allowed to."

"Merlin, are you the prince?" Arthur asked with what he considered to be much more patience than Merlin deserved.

"...No," Merlin admitted, slumping in his chair and frowning sadly at his breakfast.

"So do you think you know what princes can do better than I do?"

Merlin frowned harder at the table.

"Merlin."

Merlin pushed his lower lip up in a pout and refused to answer.

"Merrrrrrliiiiiiiin."

"No," Merlin mumbled to his chest.

"No, what?"

Merlin's head snapped up so he could glare at Arthur. "No, I don't know better, but I bet I know just as much as you!"

"I don't think so," Arthur scoffed. "I'm a whole year older than you."

"Only four months! I'll be eight in November. And we've been in the same class forever!"

"Yeah, but I get lessons on princely stuff from Father. So I know, and I'm telling you that I can have you beheaded if I want. I'm the prince and you're not allowed to argue!"

"That's not fair!" Merlin yelled, jumping out of his chair and turning his back on Arthur.

"Here now, what's all this fuss?" Summoned by her son's complaint, Hunith bustled into the small dining room with another pitcher of orange juice. There were no bits in it, even though Arthur liked the little floaty things, because Merlin thought it felt like bugs crawling in his mouth and Gaius had just given Arthur a lesson about selflessness. Arthur had made sure Merlin knew how nice he was being, pointing out several times that the juice wasn't as good without the juicy bits but that he didn't blame Merlin for being dumb.

"Arthur said he's going to have me beheaded, and he said I can't argue because he's the prince!" Merlin tattled. He spun around to make the appeal to his mum, and when he saw the full pitcher, he eagerly grabbed his glass and held it out for her. Hunith had to hold back a laugh at the endearing puppy dog eyes doing double duty: begging for juice and for vindication.

"Is that true, Your Highness?" she asked Arthur.

"Merlin says I can't behead him, even though he deserves it!"

"Well, what has he done to deserve it?"

"Treason!" Arthur announced gleefully.

"I didn't!" Merlin shouted at the same time as Hunith exclaimed, "Oh, my, that is serious! What did he do?"

"In school yesterday, he was supposed to be guarding our base in capture the flag, but he let Freya take the flag without even trying to stop her!"

"Is that true, Merlin?"

"I didn't want to tag a girl!"

"You didn't want to tag a girl who gave you biscuits at lunch!" Arthur accused. Hunith raised an eyebrow at her son, who flushed sheepishly. Nearly hopping with righteous excitement, Arthur asked, "So that's treason, right?"

"Yes," Hunith said slowly, which Merlin thought was terribly unfair since she was _his_ mum, but then she added, "but must you have him beheaded for it? Just, he's my only dearest son, and I'd miss him very much."

Arthur thought very seriously about her request, but finally shook his head. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Emrys," he told her, "but we cannot allow our emotions to subdirt the cause of justice."

"Is that something your father told you?" Hunith brushed her fingers through Arthur's fringe tenderly. She'd never imagined, so many years ago, that a position in the royal kitchen would lead to the future King of England being like a second son to her, but she wouldn't trade it for all the world. The boys were inseparable, even with their silly arguments and power struggles, and she loved them both so much.

The prince nodded solemnly. "I can let him spend the rest of the day saying goodbye to everyone, but he's going to have to be beheaded at sundown. Will you please bring him to the courtyard after dinner?"

"Of course, Sire," she told him with a quick curtesy. "If you're finished with breakfast, I'll take you and the condemned over to the library so you can do your homework."

Merlin also thought it was unfair that he had to do homework if he was just getting beheaded anyway, but a _look_ from his mum convinced him that fairness had nothing to do with it.

* * *

Just before sundown, Merlin and his mum walked hand in hand into the courtyard. She'd made him change after discovering the syrup on his shirt, so now he didn't even get to wear his favourite shirt while he was beheaded. Arthur was already waiting, looking serious, and Merlin stopped to tug at his mum's arm.

"He's not _really_ going to have me beheaded, right?" he asked again in a whisper. She'd told him so several times, as he went about hugging Gaius and calling Will and Gwen to tell them goodbye.

"I could kick him," Will had offered, but Gwen had only laughed and said, "You're both ridiculous. I'll see you on Monday."

Hunith turned to her son and petted his messy hair. "Of course not, darling. You know Arthur cares about you far too much for that, and that I would never let anyone harm you, even King Uther himself. We're just playing pretend, like when you and Mordred play warlocks."

"I like playing warlocks much better than this," Merlin confessed, his voice still hushed. He could see Arthur starting to frown and fidget, waiting for them to reach him, but Merlin wasn't in a hurry to get to his own beheading, real or not.

"And when you're with Mordred, you can. But Merlin, dearest, you know that Arthur doesn't get to play as much as you do. If we didn't live here with him, I don't think he'd have anyone at all to play with outside of school. Don't you think he should get to decide what you play sometimes?"

Merlin looked over at Arthur, who was dressed in an ironed shirt and crisp slacks even though it was a Saturday. It wasn't that easy to forget that Arthur was the crown prince, because he never failed to bring it up when they fought about anything, but Merlin did sometimes forget what that meant for Arthur.

Merlin only got to go to the fancy school with Arthur because Arthur wanted him there, so the king paid for it. Arthur didn't get to just go to friends' houses or movies or beaches like Merlin did all the time. When he did, a bunch of people had to go with him and there was always at least one mean person trying to take pictures of him. He got to run around with Merlin on Sundays, but after homework time on Saturday he had to go learn about royalty stuff.

"Mum," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes?"

"Arthur's my best friend."

"I know that, love, and you're his."

"Yeah, but. Well, am I his only friend? I mean, I've got Will and Gwen and Lance and Gwaine and Mordred, but does Arthur have anyone else?"

Hunith shook her head sadly. She wasn't surprised to see Merlin's eyes mist up, but before she could say anything else, he dropped her hand and ran headlong towards Arthur. She followed at a more sedate pace as her son flung himself at the startled prince, wrapping him in a hug that she knew from experience would be inescapable.

As she reached the boys, she heard Merlin hiccoughing, "—an' I'm sorry I treasoned, I like you loads more than Freya, I just like chocolate biscuits, but not as much as I like you, and I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, and—"

"Merlin, let go of me!" Arthur ordered, even though secretly he thought the hug was nice. He usually only got hugs from Mrs. Emrys. Those were nice, too, but he thought maybe she wasn't supposed to, because she never did it when his father was there. And it wasn't like his father never hugged him. He got one on his birthday every year, which was also the only time his father would tell him about his mother. They'd spend the whole day together, talking and looking at photos, and his father would get very sad but still smile at Arthur and say that he was so, so happy they had each other.

There had also been the day when Arthur's father had hugged him really hard, even harder than Merlin, and not let go for what felt like an hour. That had been right after his last nurse had made him wear girls' clothes and taken him on a long train ride and not told him where they were going, and it wasn't a good day like his birthdays, so he didn't like to think about it.

Merlin still hadn't stopped squeezing him or sobbing, so Arthur poked at his sides. Merlin was probably the most ticklish person Arthur had ever met, not that he tried tickling very many people. It wasn't long before Merlin sniffles turned into giggles and he tried to squirm away. But Arthur was bigger and stronger and he really meant it, so he twisted Merlin around and kept going, ignoring as he begged for Arthur to stop.

Merlin laughed and screamed until his stomach hurt and tears ran down his face, but Arthur wouldn't stop. He knew Arthur would make fun of him for shrieking like a girl later, but he was also pretty sure it meant Arthur wasn't mad at him about Freya's biscuits anymore. Maybe he wouldn't even want to behead Merlin for pretend.

Before long, Merlin's writhing knocked them both to the ground in a tangled heap. Arthur wound up mostly on top of Merlin, which wasn't very comfortable because Arthur was _heavy_ and Merlin was already gasping for breath. They looked at each other and both started giggling again, which didn't make it any easier for Merlin to breathe. It did make him pretty happy, though.

When they'd mostly recovered, Arthur rolled off of Merlin and got to his feet. His clothes were a mess, wrinkled and covered in dirt, but Merlin was still on the ground and even messier. Arthur shook his head at how silly Merlin looked, but he reached down to help him up anyway. Merlin smiled at him, but Arthur could tell he was still a little upset, because his eyes were scrunched up like they always did when he was trying not to cry. Then a tear fell down Merlin's cheek.

Arthur fluffed Merlin's hair. "You're an idiot," he said, but he was grinning. Merlin sniffed and grinned back. "I know you like me better than Freya, you big baby."

Puffing out his chest like Gwen's older brother always did when he was mad, Merlin said, "Well maybe not, if you're going to call me names! How would you know, anyway?"

"Because," Arthur said, not keeping the giggles inside very well, "you've never tried to put worms down my knickers."

Both of the boys jumped as Hunith, forgotten next to them, yelled, "You _what_?" Eyes wide with excited terror, Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him towards the trees. They ran until they couldn't hear her shouting after them anymore, then collapsed in the leaves. Breathless again from fleeing and laughing, they leant against a large chestnut tree, shoulder to shoulder.

"I think Mum's going to have me beheaded before you can," Merlin told Arthur.

"Don't worry, I won't let her. I'm the prince, she can't behead you if I tell her not to."

"But you were going to just now!"

"Not for real!"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay. And I promise I'll never treason again, not even for chocolate biscuits."

"Never ever? Even when I tell everyone at school what a huge girl you are?"

Merlin pouted, but said, "Even then."

"Even when I'm king?" Arthur asked. His voice was soft and a bit scared, though Merlin didn't think anyone except him, his mum, or Arthur's dad would be able to tell. Merlin turned and hugged him again, and Arthur didn't even complain.

"Especially when you're king," Merlin promised. "I'm going to be your best friend forever and ever, even if you don't want me to be, so when you're the king, I'll be the king's best friend, and that means I can't ever lie to you. It says so in all the stories."

"I think you're making that up. But I'm glad you'll always be my best friend."

It was almost dark, but as Hunith watched the two boys from behind her own tree, she knew it wouldn't hurt anything to give them a few more minutes together. Even as the stars came out and Merlin fell asleep on Arthur's shoulder, she let the prince drift off slowly beside him before summoning help to carry the slumbering dears to Arthur's bed. They'd sleep there, where she could keep an eye on them from the unusually comfortable chair King Uther had bought after he'd found her napping upright in a corner the first time they'd begged for a sleepover, and in the morning, she thought she might make them more pancakes.


	2. Laughter in the Dark

The closet was small, but then, so were they. Merlin and Arthur pressed as far back into the corner as they could, trying to bury themselves in the long coats.

"Ow!" Merlin complained as Arthur's elbow jammed itself into his ribs. They jostled for the best position in the cramped space for a few seconds but Arthur won, because Arthur always won.

He said it was because he was the prince, but Merlin knew it was just because he was a little older and a little bigger. When Merlin got taller than him—and he would, he just knew he would—then Arthur would see how much being the prince really mattered.

"Shhhhhh!" Arthur commanded, even louder than Merlin had been. His face was right beside Merlin's and he sprayed a little spittle around the finger he held up demonstratively.

"You shhhhh!" Merlin shoved him away and Arthur fell against the wall with a thud.

Arthur pushed back, sending Merlin toppling into a pile of boots. Merlin retaliated by throwing boot after boot at Arthur, though most of them got caught in the coats and didn't even get close to him.

Then Merlin himself got tangled up in an especially long overcoat and couldn't move his arm anymore without setting all the coathangers rattling.

"Be quiet!" Arthur shushed him again, though he had to say it loud enough that Merlin would be able to hear him over the racket he was making.

Merlin rattled in response, so Arthur threw a shoe at him. It missed very badly, whumping against a heavy winter jacket so hard that the jacket fell off its hanger and landed on Merlin's head.

Between the jacket over his face and the darkness, Merlin couldn't see Arthur, but he was sure that if he could, the other boy would be pretending he'd done it on purpose.

Merlin tried to pull the covering off his head, but his other arm got tangled too and soon the entire hanging rail of the closet was shaking and jingling with his efforts.

Arthur lunged over and tried to squish Merlin into stillness. "If he finds us because you're being too loud, I'm going to have you thrown in the dungeon. And, and banished. After you've been in the dungeon. For a very long time!"

"You can't banish the jacket dragon!"

Arthur tried but did not succeed at peering at Merlin through the dark. "What?"

"The jacket dragon!" Merlin waved his arms as much as he could while still being trapped, making the coats rustle and sway more. "He lives in the closet so you can't send him to the dungeons, and he's a dragon so he doesn't have to listen to you!"

"He does so!"

"Does not!"

"Of course he does, I'm still the prince! And what's a jacket dragon, anyway? That's a stupid monster."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"You're a stupid monster!"

"I'm not a monster, I'm a prince!"

"You're still stupid."

"I'm not the one being eaten by a jacket dragon."

Merlin was quiet for a long time (for Merlin) and stopped moving. Then the jackets around him started shaking, just a slight tremble, and Arthur was suddenly worried he'd actually made Merlin cry.

It had happened a few times, because Merlin was kind of a girl and also a baby sometimes. It wasn't like Arthur meant to, and Merlin needed to stop being so sensitive anyway. Everyone knew it. The only reason he didn't get picked on at school anymore was because Arthur had put a stop to it.

But it did make Arthur feel bad, so he was about to come up with something to say that would cheer Merlin up, like pointing out how a jacket dragon was at least better than a sock lizard, when he heard an unmistakable sound from beneath the heavy coat.

It was giggling. It was _Merlin_ giggling. He sounded like a little maniac, his laughter getting louder and more filled with little hiccupping gasps when he tried to catch his breath.

"What?" Arthur demanded. "What's so funny?"

"It is—it is a stupid monster," Merlin finally managed to say between snickers. "I mean, a _jacket dragon_?" His giggles took over again and he couldn't talk anymore.

Arthur started laughing too, happy that Merlin was happy and, even better, willing to admit that he was wrong (like he always was). They sat side by side, giggling helplessly until their sides hurt.

Hearing footsteps just outside the closet, they tried to hush themselves and each other, but it was too late. The door opened out into the hallway, flooding the tiny space with light. King Uther and Merlin's mother peered inside, his eyes moving right over Merlin's jacket monster and the corner Arthur had retreated to.

"It's no good, Ms. Emrys," he announced loudly. "I don't know if we'll ever find them!"

"Oh dear," Hunith sighed. "Maybe they're back on the other side of the castle and we just didn't see them?"

"Maybe," Uther agreed, closing the door. "Let's go look there again."

Left alone again in the small, dark closet, the boys collapsed into laughter at their parents' foolishness.


	3. Despair

The only thing that kept Uther from storming out of the palace, heavily armed and willing to break anyone who got in his way, was the knowledge that doing so was more likely to hurt Arthur than help him. But by God, it was tempting.

Since that option was unavailable to him, as was drowning his fears in liquor, all he could do was pace the perimeter of his office waiting for a phone call—from his men, from the kidnapper, anything. Any news at all. He also yelled quite a lot, mostly at the imbecile whose one job had been to keep Arthur safe.

"You let her just walk out of the palace!" he bellowed at the man, who had been stripped of his position immediately and interrogated by Uther's most trusted security staff to make sure he was only incompetent, not actually involved. Uther trusted their judgement, but he had also trusted Arthur's nurse and the head of Arthur's personal detail and that had led to disaster, so he didn't want the man out of his sight until Arthur was found, safe and whole.

"She had my son. The heir to the throne. **My son!** And she was gone for an hour before you even noticed!"

He waved the start of the man's response into silence. It wouldn't be anything new, because Uther knew that his accusations were repeating themselves, but he didn't care. Call it the privilege of a king, though really he wouldn't deny it to any father whose son had been missing, kidnapped, for hours. Arthur was his only son, all he had left of his beloved wife, the most precious thing in all of Uther's life. If he had to give up his (mostly symbolic) crown for his son's safe return, he'd do so without pause and parliament be damned.

The worst was not knowing if Arthur was hurt. If he was scared or sad. If Sophia was treating him well and he thought they were just on an adventure, or if he was alone somewhere dark and cold. If there would even be a ransom. If Arthur was still alive.

Something shattered.

Uther looked at the remnants of the teacup, a gold-trimmed china piece that was probably priceless, or at least horribly expensive, then he picked up its mate and threw that, too.

"Your Majesty," the imbecile said shakily.

"Out. Get him out!" Uther raged, even though he'd been the one to insist the man be brought in. He couldn't stand to look at him anymore. He was hustled out without question, and Uther by that point didn't care if they turned him loose or threw him in the Tower.

Uther didn't consider himself a sentimental man. His political opponents and even friends, more than once, had accused him of being heartless. He loved his son, and Arthur knew that, but he didn't dote or coddle. Nevertheless, he was sure he could feel his heart crumbling, piece by brittle piece, with every moment Arthur was away from him. He hadn't felt so helpless since Ygraine had chosen their unborn son over her own life; by the time Arthur was born, it had been too late for anything but palliative care.

He understood her choice now more than he ever had at the time. He hated to think of Arthur orphaned, but he'd suffer any death, any indignity, any torture to improve his son's chances of returning home safely. He ached for Arthur and he ached for Ygraine, and all at once the loneliness threatened to overwhelm him.

Before he could sink too deeply into melancholy, the heat of his anger burnt out, his security chief's mobile trilled an alert and Uther's breath caught in his throat as he waited through the brief, one-sided conversation.

"We've identified the train they got on," Lionel said as soon as he disconnected, "and we have video of them in one of the carriages as it pulling out of the last stop, about twenty minutes ago. Prince Arthur was still disguised but appeared to be in good health. We're going to intercept it at the next station. Clear the platform, sweep the train. We'll bring him home, Your Majesty."

"Take me to the station."

"Sire..." Lionel met his eyes and didn't bother with the rest of the argument. "Of course, Sire. I'll arrange a helicopter immediately."

The ride was quick but also endless. The train arrived at the station before they did, and Lionel kept Uther informed as it was stopped, then as Arthur was secured and Sophia arrested. Those updates were all that kept Uther from losing his mind at the waiting.

And then they were there, and Arthur looked so small and fragile, standing inside a huddle of police and royal security, wearing a lilac frock and bonnet. Uther ran to him, royal dignity and circling press be damned, and the protective circle parted as Arthur burst out, crying, "Father!"

Uther dropped to his knees and swept Arthur into his arms, no longer able to contain the emotion ripping through him; even though it was relief now, tears rolled hot down his face as he clung to his son. He pushed back the bonnet to kiss Arthur's forehead and hair, he cooed and shushed as Arthur sobbed into his shoulder, and he didn't let go for a long, long time.


End file.
